


Double Team

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Femdom, Multi, Pegging, Rope Bondage, Strap-Ons, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for prompt: "Irene and John topping the hell out of Sherlock with bondage and strap-on(s) please :-)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Team

The rope was chafing his arms.

He’d complain about it, but it was the Woman who was tying him down, not John, which meant that the chafing was deliberate; she didn’t make mistakes.

“He looks like a trussed-up turkey, if you ask me,” John said. He was sitting on a chair, one hand on the armrest, the other one idly massaging his crotch.

Sherlock was having trouble with looking away from that hand.

“A sexy turkey?” she asked, smiling. She passed the rope across his chest again, tightening it.

“I don’t think a – ” Sherlock started, but she slapped him.

“You haven’t got permission to talk,” she said, in a completely different tone than before. Cold and commanding.

“I apologise,” Sherlock sneered.

John snorted. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it didn’t sound much like it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, but held his tongue.

“Ah, difficult, isn’t it? Keeping your mouth shut? But don’t worry, we have plans for that mouth.” She pulled at the rope again, tightening it even further, and then she stepped back. “There we are.” She looked over her shoulder at John. “What do you think?”

John stood up and stepped closer, studying Sherlock with his usual clinical-scientist expression. “Looks tight.” He pulled at one loop of rope; it gave a little but the skin turned red.

“Hmm, it’s not really intended for long-term use, this one. I wouldn’t go anything over an hour.”

An hour. Sixty minutes of being restrained like this, held, trapped. He shuddered.

“Ooh, didn’t like that, did you?” Irene purred. She lightly slapped his arse. “Tough. On your knees, Sherlock.”

He went down, wincing as the change of position made the rope even tighter, especially the two lengths running between his legs. He glanced up.

John was standing over him, hand back on his cock, his eyes heated. Sherlock swallowed.  _No talking_.

John took the back of Sherlock’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “The sooner you get me off, the sooner you get your – your  _reward_ ,” John stated. He was still a little uncomfortable with this – at least, with the wording of it.

He’d taken remarkably well to the dominant attitude, really, all things considered.

John put his hands on his hips. “Well? Waiting for something?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but leaned forward, rising up a little. Undoing the button with nothing but his teeth and tongue wasn’t exactly  _easy_ , but it wasn’t impossible either. Besides, he’d practiced this before – not, of course, with sex on his mind, but lockpicking when his hands were unavailable.

The zip was a little trickier, but he did manage to catch it between his front teeth and draw it down.

The Woman chuckled, somewhere behind him. “Well done. Clever, isn’t he?”

“Careful,” John said drily. “Don’t want him to grow cocky, do we?”

He looked up at John again, licked his lips, and drew his tongue over the cotton of John’s briefs, mouthing at his cock beneath. John moaned, his hand tightening in Sherlock’s hair.

“Right,” she said. “Let’s see how well you’ve done your homework, shall we?” And cool fingers touched his arse.

Sherlock shivered. His  _homework_. A bottle of lube and a latex glove, lying neatly in the centre of his table – lucky it wasn’t Mrs Hudson’s cleaning day, she’d have gloated about it for weeks – with a note saying  _prepare yourself_.

He’d made short work of it, as quickly as he could, eager to get to business. He was probably going to regret that now, though.

“Hmm,” she said, her finger gently probing him. “Someone was in a hurry, apparently. But if that’s what you want, Sherlock…” She pulled her finger back and there was a soft thud.

He tried to look behind him, but John’s hand forced him back to John’s crotch. “Did I tell you you could stop?” he snapped.

Sherlock rose up a little more and licked gently at the head of John’s cock, peeking out of the top of his briefs.

“Good,” John gasped. “Keep, keep doing that.”

The Woman's hand hooked behind his thigh and pulled, forcing his knees back, until his upper body was almost perfectly parallel to the floor, thighs in a right angle, neck forced back, nothing supporting him but John’s hand under his shoulder. The rope around his legs prevented him from finding his balance, and his stomach muscles went tight with an effort to hold the pose.

Something nudged against him – dildo, vibrator, something like that. “Keep like this until I’m inside of you, and you get something to lean on,” she said.

John pulled his briefs down and pulled Sherlock’s head close. He obediently opened his mouth and took John’s cock halfway in. Concentration, now, that was the key.

She pushed in. He wasn’t quite prepared enough, the slow stretch of it more than just a little painful. He groaned around John’s cock, fighting to keep still. She naturally went slow, sliding inch by tortuous inch, until Sherlock’s muscles were trembling with the effort of keeping still.

And then she was inside and John threw out an arm and pulled something closer. Suddenly there was a footstool underneath his stomach and he slumped forward, pulling away from John’s cock and panting.

“Sherlock,” she said, deceptively soft. “He said  _no stopping_.”

John pulled him close again, and Sherlock opened his mouth, sucked. It was an awkward angle, and combined with the way his arms were held tight, the rope pulling against him… It was more than a little uncomfortable. But at least she wasn’t moving yet.

And then, of course, as if she had read his thoughts, she started pulling out. He made a quiet noise of frustration, hands curling.

“Sherlock,” John said, once again pulling at his hair. “Keep your attention on me.”

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on John’s cock against his lips, his tongue. He’d done this often enough that he knew what John liked, what to do to finish this as quickly as possible. But it was hard to concentrate. She had fallen into a pattern of shallow quick thrusts, with the occasional deeper one thrown in to make sure he couldn’t ignore it,  _damn_ her.

It would help if he had his hands free, and again he pulled against the restraints. Not that he rationally expected something to give, but just because – because he’d go  _mad_ if he didn’t do something. But all it did was make the rope dig deeper into a skin.

John moaned. “God, Sherlock, you – your mouth - ”

Inane chatter, meaning he was close. Sherlock pulled off briefly, licked his lips and allowed himself a brief triumphant smile before going back. He sucked hard, moving his mouth up and down. John’s hand pulled hard at his hair – tears sprung to Sherlock’s eyes at the sudden pain – and Sherlock looked up. John’s head was thrown back, his eyes shut, mouth open. A little ridiculous, yes, but also quite entrancing. Sherlock swirled his tongue over the head of John’s cock, watched him twitch, gasp -

And he came. Sherlock kept his mouth around him, swallowing, keeping him inside until his cock went soft again.

Job well done.

She had stopped moving for the moment as well, still inside of him.

“Well?” Sherlock said. He licked his lips again. “No  _well done_? No patronising compliments?”

“I thought I said  _no talking_?” she answered, sounding more interested than threatening.

“I’m done here, aren’t I?” he snapped. John’s hand was still in his hair. Sherlock gave him a quick look – he was watching her, grinning.

Mocking him. Damn, he hated it when they teamed up on him like that.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Sherlock – ” she gave a little thrust “- I’m still here. Right, up you come.”

Her fingers tangled in the rope across his back and she pulled, heaving him upright until he leaned back against her chest. Her hand closed loosely around his throat, holding him. His back was arched a little.

And his cock was hard, leaking a bit. Well, he couldn’t help it if he enjoyed himself, could he? Annoyance aside.

John ran a hand through his hair and blew out his cheeks. “Right,” he said, “I’ll take care of that,” he waved his hand at Sherlock’s erection, “and you keep doing what you were doing. Alright?”

“Excellent plan,” she said cheerfully. Her hips started rocking again – different angle, less deep than before, but somehow more pleasurable. Closer to his prostate, this time.

John pressed a brief, rather chaste kiss against his lips and went down to his knees in front of Sherlock. He reached down and fisted Sherlock’s cock.

He hissed. The friction was incredibly welcome. The rope had been chafing there too, at the crease of his thigh, a constant tease of what-could-be without being anywhere near enough.

John slowly ran his fingers up. Incredibly slowly, in fact, but she was speeding up behind him, quick hard thrusts that sent little shivers of pleasure straight to his cock. It was disorienting, the contrast of it.

Her hand went a little tighter around his throat, pulling him back even more, increasing the arch of his back. It made the rope dig in even deeper than before, and the slight pain of it, combined with her thrusts and John’s lazily-moving hand –

He gasped. She stopped moving abruptly, and John stopped as well, his hand tight around the base of Sherlock’s cock.

He wanted to  _scream_ in frustration.

“Something you want, Sherlock?” she asked softly, breath tickling his ear.

He stubbornly bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to speak, although his quick panting was probably giving the game away.

“Sherlock,” John said, calm and no-nonsense. “Say it.”

“I’m – ” He glared at John. The man was a doctor, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be able to look that sadistic. “ _Fine_. Please.”

“Please what?” she asked, still infuriatingly cheerful.

He rolled his eyes. “Please may I come.” Although he’d rather suffer from priapism than call her  _mistress_.

She bit the shell of his ear. “Good boy.”

And they moved again, in perfect unison, John’s hand finally speeding up and matching the rhythm of her thrusts. He came after barely twenty seconds, straining against the rope and gasping, her hand still on his throat.

He came down slowly, breathing easing up, getting aware again of John kneeling in front of him, and  _her_ behind him. As if they were waiting for something.

John raised his hand to Sherlock’s mouth, pressing his fingers against his lips. Now why – ah, yes. He obediently opened up and sucked at John’s fingers, cleaning them.

She stepped back. The dildo was still inside of him, the straps of the harness dangling against his arse. She looked down her nose at him, triumphant, cold, untouched.

“You really look delicious on your knees, you know,” she said, her hand taking his chin. He would have pulled away if it hadn’t been for John’s hand on his shoulder, a strangely calming feeling.

“I have half a mind to leave it in for a bit,” she continued, smiling. “Making sure you remember to prepare yourself better, next time.”

“Fine by me,” John said, getting up slowly. “What did you say? An hour max, right? That still gives us…” He glanced at his watch. “About thirty minutes, brilliant. Cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely, thanks,” she said charmingly.

“And I’m just supposed to sit here and  _wait_?” Sherlock said, sneering.

“Well,” she smirked at him. “Yes. Although you’re welcome to join us in the kitchen if you can crawl that far.” She turned and walked to the kitchen, heels clacking against the floor.

Sherlock tentatively tried to move. He only managed a few inches, and the movement made the dildo rub up inside of him, which wasn’t – wasn’t  _wise_ , right now.

John was still watching him, obviously amused. “Tell you what,” he said, “if you do make it to the kitchen I’ll… I dunno, I’ll clean up after your experiments for the rest of the week. How’s that for a reward?”

He glared at John. “You know perfectly well – ”

“You can  _try_ , can’t you? Anyway,” he turned. “I’ve got a lady to entertain. See you in a bit, Sherlock.”

He glared at John’s back until he had disappeared out of view, and then he tried to shuffle forward again. The dildo moved and he gasped at the sudden stimulation, going straight to his cock, half painful, half  _good_.

Damn them both.


End file.
